


you give me something to think about

by ohcinnamon



Series: i live through my writing [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Sickfic, Trans Character, inspired by me having a uti right now and feeling like i'm going to die, pete has a uti and is kind of miserable but patrick is a very good boyfriend, trans!pete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 15:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcinnamon/pseuds/ohcinnamon
Summary: Pete is never going to take peeing comfortably for granted ever again.also known as: pete is miserable because he has a uti, but patrick provides the perfect distraction





	you give me something to think about

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emeraldcitydowntowngirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldcitydowntowngirl/gifts).



> inspiration struck me in the middle of the night last night, as i was sitting in the bathroom and being miserable, like pete (do you see where i'm going with this?) anyway, maybe (definitely) this is me projecting, but if i have to be sick, i'm gonna get a fic out of it, dammit. also, this is dedicated to uma, because she puts up with me complaining about writing all the time. that deserves an award. <3
> 
> title from "st. patrick" by pvris.

Pete is never going to take peeing comfortably for granted ever again.

To his great discomfort, he's had a urinary tract infection for the past three days, and he's pretty damn convinced his bladder is trying to kill him. His abdomen hurts like hell, there's constant pressure on his bladder, he has to go to the bathroom at least once every hour, and pissing _stings_ like a motherfucker. To put it short, he's kind of miserable.

He and Patrick had gone to the walk-in clinic that morning after many failed attempts to “flush the infection out” by drinking only water and cranberry juice for two days. It's not like they have a ton of money to spend on visits to the doctor, but Patrick had insisted he go and that he wouldn't take no for an answer. And when Patrick has his mind set on something, it's best just to go along with it - he has ways of getting what he wants.

That leads him to here, sitting in the bathroom floor at ass-o’clock in the morning, wondering if he'll _ever_ stop feeling the urge to pee. He'd finally given in and taken one of the urinary pain relief tablets, but it's still got about an hour before it actually kicks in, so he's doomed to discomfort for now. His bed would probably be more comfortable, but he knows that as soon as he climbs back in, his bladder will tell him that it's time to piss again.

What's even worse is that it's only the first day of his antibiotics, so they won't kick in for at least another 24 hours. He doesn't even know if these antibiotics will work - his body has always been somewhat resistant to medicine, so there's really a 50/50 chance that he'll end up having to go back to the doctor anyway. Either way, this whole thing is a gigantic, miserable mess, and he curses the bacteria that caused this for all it's worth.

“I hate my life,” he moans, sprawling himself across the cold tile floor, laying his head back on their rug. As if having a UTI isn't enough, it's extra embarrassing to have to wear pads 24/7 to avoid leakage - that's probably what bothers him the most. He can't stand not being in control. He's in his twenties, for God’s sake. He shouldn't have to be dealing with old people problems.

Hot tears prick at his eyes, and he sniffles quietly, wishing he had something to distract himself. It doesn't really even hurt that bad, but he's so tired and uncomfortable that crying is really the only thing that makes sense. He curls himself into a ball as tightly as possible, biting down on the collar of his shirt to keep from making too much sound. He's used to silent crying. He doesn't want to wake Patrick up, after all - it's the middle of the night, and he barely gets enough sleep as it is.

But, of course, Patrick somehow magically knows that something’s wrong, as always. Pete can hear his footsteps coming down the hallway, and hurries to brush away the tears rolling down his cheeks. He knocks at the door softly, and Pete unlocks the door for him to come in without a word.

Maybe Pete can cry quietly, but his red, puffy eyes give him away instantly. Patrick sinks to his knees, gathering him up and pulling him into a warm hug. Pete sinks into it and relaxes as much as he can, body still trembling from being so upset. Patrick, bless him, doesn't say anything about it; he just runs his fingers through Pete’s hair and rubs his back to calm him down.

“I'm such a baby,” Pete mumbles into his shoulder, feeling his eyes get wet again. “It hasn't even been a whole day and I'm already freaking out that the antibiotics might not be working.”

“You're not a baby,” Patrick coos, rubbing gentle circles into his back to calm him down. “I can't even imagine how uncomfortable you must be right now.”

“It's not even that, I’m just so _frustrated_ ,” Pete says, leaning back so that he can wipe his nose on his sleeve instead of dripping all over Patrick's hoodie. “I hate getting sick, and this is like...the worst of the worst, for me. I haven't had a UTI since, like, kindergarten. I also never ever want to have one _ever_ _again_.”

“Well then, I hope it doesn't come back,” Patrick soothes, reaching out to wipe the tears he'd missed. “But if it does, you know I'll always be here to help you, okay? We can go to the doctor again, stay in bed for a week - whatever you need.”

Pete smiles sadly, feeling a small spot of warmth beginning to unfurl in his chest. “You're too good to me.”

“Not ‘too good,’” Patrick protests, gaze soft with affection. “I'll do what it takes to keep you happy and healthy because I love you, you dork. I know you'd do the same for me.”

And it's true - no matter how tired they both are, if Patrick had been the one sobbing on their bathroom floor at 3 AM, Pete would've been there for him in a heartbeat. It's one of the things he truly treasures most about their relationship. They genuinely care about each other more than any other couple he's met, and he thanks his lucky stars for that every day.

However, if his lucky stars could cut him a bit of slack with this whole UTI thing, that would be great, too.

“Come on, let's go back to bed,” Patrick suggests gently, getting to his feet. “You took some of those pills, right? They should kick in soon. Just give it a little while. I'll stay up with you until they do.”

“Fuck,” Pete mutters, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I don't know how I'm gonna survive this week. I'm so bloated, it's worse than my period - and that's saying something.” He looks up, grimacing, and Patrick’s gaze is full of sympathy.

“I know, baby, and I’m so sorry. That actually reminds me,” Patrick says, extending a hand to help him up. “I know you don't want to, but you probably shouldn't bind until we get this infection all sorted out. I don't want to make this any more uncomfortable for you than it has to be.”

Pete crosses his arms over his chest defensively, but deep down, he knows Patrick is right. Any tight clothing at all currently makes him want to die, so it's probably for the best. He'll survive - he's going to be confined to the apartment for the next few days, anyway, so at least he won't have to go out and see people. Still, he's not too excited that he won't be able to bind. It just reminds him even more that he doesn't have any control over this situation.

Patrick notices he's gone quiet and slings one arm around him, pulling him closer as they walk back to their bedroom. “You can have one of my biggest sweaters. Whichever one you want.”

Pete turns to him, chest starting to feel a little less heavy already. “Can we have a movie marathon?”

“Of course we can,” Patrick reassures him, grinning so brightly that for a split second, he almost forgets about the pain. “Who do you think I am?”

“I think you're a saint.” At that, Pete smirks, and Patrick groans at the pun he knows is going to follow. “My very own Saint Patrick. Ireland is never getting you back.”

“Not a saint,” Patrick protests, but his words get lost somewhere in the sequence of Pete tugging him in by the strings of his hoodie and kissing him. It's not like Pete couldn't have waited until they were in bed - they're literally in their bedroom right now - but Pete just _loves_ _him_ so much right now that he had to do it. Patrick just smiles, already knowing this, one hand coming up to cradle his cheek gently before pulling away. He kisses Pete’s forehead softly, and then again on the cheek - just for good measure, of course - and Pete doesn't miss the blush in his cheeks when he turns on the light. “I’m also not from Ireland.”

“An angel, then. You're a gift sent from God to distract me,” Pete decides, falling onto their bed ungracefully. He rolls over, holding his arms out as an invitation to come cuddle with him. Patrick rolls his eyes, but he's grinning when Pete pulls him down. He grabs their biggest, softest blanket, and wraps it around both of their shoulders before leaning over to kiss Pete on the cheek again. Pete beams, leaning into his side, soaking up the warmth and affection. He's kinda miserable, but his boyfriend is also kinda perfect. “How else would I survive this?”


End file.
